Middleearth Ramblings
by Naz
Summary: Ficlets & other random, unrelated LotR & Sil writings. Chapter 1 is Battle of the Pelennor done wo reference. Will only continue if is R&R...


All around him, sounds of battle raged. Eomer was engaged fully, slashing at his enemies, who were advancing on all sides. He felt no fear. He only felt the giddy rush that battle gave him. He occasionally barked orders to his _eored_, but for the most part he was engaged in fighting.

Things seemed to be going quite well until a shadow of doubt and fear suddenly fell upon his heart.

Firefoot whinnied, and Eomer tried to soothe the frightened horse, while still fighting back orcs and Haradrim. He tried to quell his fear. Looking around, he saw many of the other Riders in the same predicament.

Then he looked up, and saw what caused it.

The dread Beast swooped down, close to Theoden. Snowmane reared up and whinnied in fear. The King tried to calm him, but Snowmane toppled over backwards, crushing the King beneath him.

Theoden's nephew could not see clearly his uncle's demise, but he felt dread creep over him more. But his attention was turned elsewhere, to the huge mumakil, still wreaking terror over the Pelennor.

He was fighting these creatures, when he heard a horrible, unearthly shriek. Even the enemy stopped to try and figure out what was going on. Squinting, Eomer could just barely see the Witch King, who had dismounted his now beheaded fell beast, twisting and writhing in agony. A Rider—an unusually short one—lay just behind him, cradling his arm. Another Rider lay in front, against Snowmane, just barely holding onto his sword. The only physical feature Eomer could see at this distance was flowing golden hair, but he didn't think much of it. Many Riders had flowing hair the colour of golden wheat.

In the instant that the Witch King seemingly imploded, he turned back to his enemies, who seemed somewhat disheartened by this event. He struck with renewed force, and fought on until he came to where his people were picking up their dead King in sorrow.

If his heart was not already low enough, he then saw the seemingly dead Rider—with flowing, golden hair.

It was Eowyn.

Eomer was shocked and horrified. What was his sister doing here, on the field of battle? Dressed as a Rider, in full armour? He didn't even notice Merry, lying not far away, unconscious. The Rohirrim took up their Lady as well, trying to mask their sorrowful shock. Some looked to Eomer, who seemed in a daze.

"What is this?" Imrahil asked them upon reaching the Gates with their burdens. "Have even the women of Rohan come to fight to our defense?"

"Nay," said they. "This is the Lady Eowyn, and we knew not that she rode with us."

end part 1—

later

part 2-

Éomer was in a fey mood. He called to the riders that they would weep later. For he knew now was not the time to mourn, though a few tears made their way down his own cheeks. He was now King of the Riddermark, not just the Third Marshal. But it seemed his reign would be short-lived.

There were the Corsairs. The Corsairs of Umbar had come. The enemy was rejoicing. They would soon crush Gondor and the Riders. The time was close.

Éomer laughed. He sang fell words, and prepared to meet his end—it would be glorious! He rallied his troops. All of them were beginning to feel that this was truly their last stand. All hope was lost, but they would still fight, and long may the Enemy remember them with fear in days after, and long may small pockets of hope remember their valiance!

But then they saw, and the enemy saw, and they quailed, but the knights of Gondor and the Riders that stood upon the Field looked upon the ships with joy. For there was the Standard of the King of Gondor, hung high. And there Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, the Dunadain, and the sons of Elrond.

It was quite a nasty turn for the enemy, but the Free Peoples' hope was suddenly renewed. They raised their weapons and fought on. The Corsairs landed, and Aragorn Elessar, the King of Gondor, leapt from the ship and into the fray.

Thusly he met Éomer once again, and despite being in the middle of battle, it was quite a happy reunion. "Now is the hour where we draw swords together!" Éomer stated. He and Aragorn fought alongside each other. Once again, the giddy feeling was back in Éomer's head. Aragorn fought on one side, he on the other. The Enemy was being defeated.

Many long hours later, the Pelennor Fields were silent.

Dead bodies from either side lay on the ground. Knights and Riders were looking for anyone whom they might recognize. Merry blindly stumbled into the City. Éomer told Aragorn of what had befallen his sister. They went to the Houses of Healing, where Aragorn began his work.

Gandalf looked out upon the Field. Just days ago, he has brought Pippin here, to Minas Tirith. Just days ago, the Field had been clear.

Now dead bodies lay strewn on the ground. Dead mumakil lay about, dead horses, orcs, Haradrim, Men of Gondor, Men of the Mark, Dunedain. Banners stuck in the ground where they were last planted, or held fast in the cold grip of their dead bearers. Many on both sides lay dead, but it was not the end. Gandalf knew that.

In the Houses of Healing, Eowyn, Shieldmaiden, awoke, to the delight of her brother. Faramir son of Denethor awoke to the calling of his King. Meriadoc Brandybuck contemplated smoking without Theoden, small tears falling.

Aragorn worked there well into the night, until finally, he could return once again to his camp outside the City.


End file.
